I shrugged and glanced at Alistair to see what he made of what I said. He gave me a considering glance.
“As fascinating as the love life of your attorney is,” Bronson said, “how about we get back to the matter at hand?”
Alistair stepped all the way into the room and closed the door behind him. I vacated my seat so he could sit with Aunt Betty, and moved to the back of the room to stand beside Harry.
We listened as Bronson asked where Aunt Betty had been yesterday morning before the agility competition. Since we were with her all morning, it was easy to verify her alibi. Bronson accepted our timeline of events from the unfortunate encounter with Swendson at the cocktail party right up to when I stepped in to take Aunt Betty’s place.
“When was Swendson poisoned?” I asked.
Bronson’s face closed. It was clear he had no intention of discussing the pending investigation. Like that was going to stop me.
“It had to be after the cocktail party,” I said. “In fact, if I think about it, it had to be early morning, before the agility tests.”
Bronson’s face closed up even more. I remained undaunted.
“Why do you say that, Scarlett?” Alistair asked.
“Because I saw him at the cocktail party and he was in a dark suit, clearly bespoke, with shiny black dress shoes,” I said. “The brown crocodile shoe that Freddy brought to me when he discovered his body means that Swendson had clearly changed from his clothes the night before and dressed for the day’s events.” I looked at Bronson. “So, I’m assuming it was a fast-acting poison that was administered that morning.”
He frowned, his dark brows forming one line across his forehead. “Again, I will not discuss a pending investigation.”
“Since we’ve answered your query, may I assume my client is free to go?” Alistair asked.
Bronson gave a slow nod and said, “For now.”
They rose from their seats and Harry and I waited for Alistair and Aunt Betty to leave first. I had fallen in behind Harry when Bronson’s voice stopped me.
“Ms. Pa—Scarlett,” he said. I turned to find him watching me. “A word of caution. You’re in the competition. Since we have no idea who might have poisoned Swendson, it could be dangerous. If I were you, I’d keep my theories to myself until we know for certain that Swendson was murdered.”
“Duly noted,” I said. “I’ll be careful.” He looked relieved so I felt compelled to add, “But I’m still going to try and figure out who wanted Swendson dead.”
He sighed. “Of course you are.”
When I met the others in the hallway, Harry looked at me with concern. “All right, Ginger?”
“Since no one got arrested, I’d say we’re as good as can be expected,” I said. “I should check in and see what time the obedience trials are.”
“I have the schedule here, dear,” Aunt Betty said. She held up a piece of paper. “You and Freddy are scheduled to compete in an hour.”
“Any idea what the FME reported when they examined Swendson?” Harry asked Alistair.
“FME?” I asked.
“Forensic medical examiner,” Alistair explained. “They’re general practitioners contracted by the police to do initial investigations. I don’t know what they reported but I do know that Swendson’s body was turned over to the coroner for a postmortem. A more detailed report won’t be released for a few weeks, but my sources at the coroner’s office did confirm that they’re screening for poisons.”
Harry looked at his aunt. “That was a good guess, then.”
She shrugged. “It just stands to reason, given that his food was making the dogs sick. If someone was going to get revenge, wouldn’t poison be the natural choice?”
“Do you think there’s any way to find out if someone’s dog has died because of Swendson’s Dog Food?” Harry asked Alistair.
“I’m sure there must be,” he said.
“Last night, I overheard Liza Stanhope and Richard Freeman talking about a lawsuit,” I said. “I think some of the former competitors are suing Swendson over the bad dog food.”
Alistair looked at me with approval. “Well, I guess I know what I’ll be doing this afternoon.” He glanced at his watch. “In the meantime, I do have another client to meet with. Aunt Betty, do not talk to the police without me, not even about the weather, am I clear?”
“Like a crystal trophy,” she said.
“We’re all meeting up at our place above the shop after the competition today. Join us?” I asked him. Alistair hesitated and I wondered if it was because he couldn’t bear to see Viv. I decided to bring in my secret weapon. “Nick is cooking curry.”
“Well, in that case, how can I refuse?” he said. With a small wave he turned and left, making his way down the hallway and out a side door.
“Let’s go find a place to practice, dear,” Aunt Betty said. “You and Freddy need to be perfect.”
“No pressure,” I mumbled to Harry. He smiled and fell into step behind me as Aunt Betty led us down the hallway to a door that would bring us back into the cold for more practice. I hoped Freddy was more into it this time because I’d just gotten the feeling back in my feet.
* * *
* * *
I wish I could report that the obedience portion of the competition went as well as the agility tests, but I can’t. Because it went even better! On our second practice session, Freddy relieved himself in the bushes. I’m not saying that lightening the load helped his powers of concentration, but the dog who walked into the obedience competition did so with a swagger that was unbreakable.
When I said, “sit,” he sat. When I commanded him to roll over, he dropped and rolled like he was putting out a fire. Shaking hands was no big deal and then when I asked him to dance, he popped up on his back feet, and I swear he was attempting to do the Electro Shuffle. The crowd went nuts and I was just so proud. And lastly when I asked him to fetch our hats, which I had purposefully left on a bench on the other side of the arena, he did so with alacrity. He was, in short, perfect.
My heart was in my throat as we awaited his score. When it was announced, it took everything in me to nod my head in acceptance with no expression other than a very tiny smile on my face. The score was the highest of the obedience competition so far and Freddy maintained his lead position by an increased margin of one point. Naturally, as soon as we left the floor and were safely in the hallway, I did a fist pump and a little shimmy-shake of my own.
Andre came running toward me, his camera gripped in one hand. “You did it!”
I jumped up and down and clapped. “Technically, Freddy did it, but I’ll take my due.”
“Let’s get a picture,” Andre said. “The light is terrible in here, let’s go back in the warm-up room.”
He led the way and Freddy and I followed. He positioned us against the wall and snapped a serious picture and then I commanded Freddy to dance and I kicked up one leg behind me in a silly pose.
Andre checked the display screen on his camera and laughed. “That one is going to go viral!”
“Oh, no,” I said. “My fifteen minutes of online fame is more than over.”
“I’ll make sure it’s just Freddy, then.” He gave me a one-armed hug, kissed my head and said, “I’m back on duty. See you at dinner tonight!”
The door shut behind him and I glanced down at Freddy. “See that?” I asked. “You’re going to be famous.”
“You think you’re so precious, don’t you?” a scathing voice asked from behind me.
Was that a trick question? Because, duh, of course I think I’m precious. But I also have good manners and know that it would sound very arrogant if I answered “yes,” but I balked at saying “no.” I mean, why wouldn’t I like me? I’m stuck in here, aren’t I? How miserable would life be if I didn’t think kindly of myself? Regardless, I decided to go with “no” for an answer.
I turned around and found Penelope Young standing there. She had Henry on a leash and he was curling his lip at Freddy. Being the smarty-pants that he is, Freddy moved to sit behind me and ignored him.
“Can I help you, Penelope?” I asked. Not that I intended to help her in any way but it seemed polite to ask.
“You can withdraw your mongrel from the competition,” she said.
“No.”
“Then I fear you leave me no choice,” she said.
I frowned. “No choice?”
“I’ll have to report what I overheard to Detective Inspector Bronson,” she said.
I stared at her. She looked so smug. I don’t like smug.
“Fine,” I said. I was calling her bluff and I hoped she was annoyed enough to clue me in as to what the heck she was talking about. She didn’t. Pride be damned, I cracked. “What did you overhear?”
She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. She seemed so sure of herself, I suddenly knew exactly how a mouse felt wedged between the paws of a playful cat.
“That’s for me to know—for now,” she said. “Enjoy your short time at number one. It isn’t going to last. In fact, there’s going to be a real shake-up at PAWS when I become the chairman and take Liza Stanhope’s place.”
Even as I tried to show no reaction I felt my eyes get wide.
“Not so sure of yourself now, are you?” With a toss of her hair, she walked away. Sadly for her, Henry wasn’t done growling at Freddy. He refused to budge. Penelope stamped her foot and said, “Come, Henry.”
He leaned against the pull of the leash.
“Henry!” she hissed. “Now.”
He was doing a fine impression of a boulder. With a frustrated flap of her arms, she bent over and scooped him up, storming away. I looked down at Freddy. “Is it just me or do you think obedience isn’t going to be his thing?”
Freddy barked, and I laughed. “Come on, let’s go fuel up before the parade.”
* * *
* * *
At the end of the obedience trials, Freddy was still in the lead but Muffin was breathing down his neck by one half of a point. Still, it was a strong place to be going into tomorrow’s judging. It was to be very hands-on but Aunt Betty had an entire grooming regimen prepared for Freddy the next morning that she assured me would put him in peak form.
The parade was mercifully only one lap around Finchley Park with Freddy and me in the lead since he was in first place. Muffin and Richard were right behind us and then came a pretty black standard poodle named Lucy, and after her a mixed breed named Sachewa. Henry had been relegated to fifth place out of the seventy or so contestants, which caused Jasper and Penelope to complain loud enough for everyone to hear. Ugh.
People surrounded the makeshift promenade and they applauded and cheered when we trotted by. Viv, in some utterly crazed scheme, had made Freddy yet another hat last night. It was a top hat and it was ridiculously cute on him. She’d also begged Harry for one of his bow ties to complete the look. She had not made me a matching top hat, instead opting to braid my hair in some complicated twist on which she then placed a sparkly tiara. Not gonna lie, I was rocking the bling.
There was a very small grandstand, and the judges and sponsors watched as we promenaded in front of them. Aunt Betty said this was not a scored event, but I still felt that it was imperative that we give a good performance. She’d shown me how to properly gait Freddy, meaning he needed to walk at my side, at the speed I chose, showing off his breed’s style to its best advantage. Doing this in the parade was dicey because there were so many distractions—smells, sounds and such—that the dogs were challenged to stay on task. We were instructed to have our dogs stack in front of the grandstand, which meant they stood still and didn’t move.
Freddy was solid at the free stack, which means he stopped and stood still all on his own, as opposed to a hand stack where I could use my hands to assist him. We posed for several seconds and I glanced up at the stands. The judges were all there, as well as Liza Stanhope, Mary Swendson and, much to my surprise, Tilly Swendson. She was still covered in diamonds and furs, but her face was pale and her eyes red-rimmed.
I heard Andre’s camera clicking and when I glanced over he gave me a nod, signaling that we could continue. Freddy and I turned and resumed our walk around the park, with my short-legged escort on my left side, maintaining a perfect gait. He really was a gem.
When the parade finished, the competitors all waited in the back room to be dismissed. Being the first one in there, I took the opportunity to watch everyone as they filed in after me. There was a huge variety of dogs in this competition, which included two other corgis. Freddy in his top hat outshone them all, not that I am competitive or anything, but I absolutely am.
While waiting for Harry to come and collect me, I saw Detective Inspector Bronson talking to Liza Stanhope. Her features were pinched, which on her pointy person did not enhance her looks. Mary was standing with them, looking alarmed. I wondered if they were getting new information about the cause of Gerry’s death. I led Freddy closer, in a futile attempt to eavesdrop. It didn’t work. As the cavernous room rapidly filled with dogs and people, it was impossible to think, never mind listen in on conversations. Rats!
I was about to text Harry when Mary Swendson caught sight of me. She said something to Bronson and Liza and made her way over to Freddy and me. She knelt with her hand out, letting Freddy become familiar with her scent before she petted him.
“You are doing brilliantly,” she said to him. “You captured the lead and look to be maintaining it. Good job, old fellow.”
Freddy looked ridiculously pleased with himself and if I’m being honest I enjoyed the praise more than I deserved as well.
Mary rose to her feet and said, “Congratulations to you, too, Ms. Parker.”
“Thank you—” I began but was interrupted by a woman who staggered right up to Mary and shoved her face in hers until they were just inches apart. It was Tilly Swendson.
“How dare you?” she hissed.
Mary went very still. “Tilly, you are making a scene.”
“Of course I am,” Tilly cried.
Tilly Swendson. I’d seen her only from a distance before. Up close, she looked older than I expected. Not significantly older but not the twentysomething she appeared to be from a distance. She was solidly in her thirties with the beginnings of middle age marking the skin around her eyes and mouth.
“Are you drunk?” Mary demanded. She looked disgusted.
“Not yet,” Tilly said. “But I’ll keep trying.”
“I thought you were trying to get clean,” Mary said.
“I’m off the pain pills, but . . . oh, what do you care?” Tilly hissed.
She threw her arms wide and it was then that I saw the wineglass in her left hand. She wore her blond hair scraped back from her face and styled in a ball on her head, showcasing the enormous diamond-encrusted hoops in her ears. She was no longer wearing her fur coat. Her blouse was sheer and loose over a satiny camisole. Her pants were wide-legged and she wobbled on spiky heels, giving her the look of someone who should be an entertainer on a cruise ship with a pile of fruit on her head and a daiquiri instead of wine in hand.
“Why are you even here?” Tilly demanded. “I’m the widow. I’m the one who should speak for Gerry.”
Mary’s eyes became hard. I got the feeling this was not the first time they’d had this argument. Her voice when she spoke was soft and low but no less firm for being so.
“If he’d wanted you to speak for him,” she said, “he would have left you shares in the company. He did not.”
“No, instead, he left me a half-built castle and a mountain of debt,” Tilly sneered. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“This is not the place to discuss this,” Mary said.
“Well, I’d talk about it in my home, bu
t I can’t because it hasn’t been built yet,” Tilly said.
“If you hadn’t demanded that he build you that monstrosity,” Mary said, “you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
They both seemed to have forgotten that Freddy and I were there. I said nothing, hoping they’d keep forgetting.
“Oh, so it’s my fault your brother was in debt up to his ar—”
“That’s quite enough, Tilly,” Mary said.
“No, it isn’t,” Tilly said. “In fact, I haven’t even begun. I want my share of the company.”
“I’ll see you in hell first,” Mary said.
“I’m already there,” Tilly hissed. “I’ve lost everything. The will should have been changed. Gerry promised me he’d take care of me. It’s your fault, I know it is; you made him shut me out!”
“I did no such thing,” Mary said. “Your greed did that. You had him build you a castle, wasn’t that enough?”
Tilly’s face turned red. “But without any income from the company, how can I pay for it?”
“That is not my problem,” Mary said. “Perhaps you should get a job.”
“Ah!” Tilly gasped as if the suggestion of working for a living was the gravest insult Mary could send her way. “Gerry loved me. He wanted to take care of me. I can’t believe he left me nothing. It was supposed to be mine, all mine!”
“Well, it isn’t,” Mary said. “I suggest you ask your lover to step up and help you out.”
“How dare you,” Tilly said. But her gaze didn’t meet Mary’s. In fact, it shifted across the room to where the judges were clustered in a circle, talking to Detective Inspector Bronson. Was she worried that he’d heard the exchange?
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mary said icily as she pushed past Tilly. “I have to meet with the judges.”
“That’s supposed to be my role,” Tilly said. The drink sloshed in her hand as she waved wildly about the room. “You’ve just inserted yourself in everything that was Gerry’s. I bet you’re thrilled to finally step into the spotlight. In fact, I’ll bet you’re not even sorry that he’s gone, are you?”
Buried to the Brim Page 12